


Song of the Night Bird

by samwysesr



Series: The Life and Times of Evie Frye [2]
Category: ACS - Fandom, Assassin's Creed, Assassin's Creed Brahman, Assassin's Creed Syndicate - Fandom
Genre: Anti-Henvie, F/M, Fryecest - Freeform, Twincest, cousin marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-07 08:12:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13430604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwysesr/pseuds/samwysesr
Summary: Pyara Kaur has always known what her son's true destiny was to be and had faith he would fulfill it—even when it seemed that all hope was lost and he would never find his way home.





	1. Chapter 1

 

### FOREWORD

In compiling sources and research for ‘Jacob have I Loved’, it came to my attention that there are numerous conflicting timelines as well as inconsistencies in canon. One such instance revolves around the present day segments of _Brahman_ , in which we meet Monima Das, a modern day descendant of Pyara Kaur, through her son Jayadeep. There is _nothing_ recorded* that ties Jayadeep’s offspring to Evie Frye—in fact, everything in canon clearly shows she had no children. When coupled with the fact that upon her return to England she not only introduced herself as Evie Frye but also stayed there with Jacob, never returning to India, this clearly points to one answer.

Evie Frye _did not_ marry Jayadeep/Henry Green—he married someone else.

The unanswered questions are why did he marry someone else, and who was she?

Thus begins our story.

 

_*Edited to add: Jeffrey Yohalem, the lead writer for ACS stated in a podcast that Monima Das was in **no way** **related to Evie Frye** ; this makes it **unequivocal  canon** that **Jayadeep/Henry had a child with someone else.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Amritsar 1847**

The sun was on the verge of sinking into the horizon, the last of its light painting colors across the sky as night slowly rolled in—bright streaks of ochre and amaranth cut across the deepening purple of twilight, marking the end of another day.  The sight was beautiful, complimented by the sound of the children playing in the courtyard; the tinkling sound of the water in the fountain and the trill of the night birds combined with the melodious chime of their laughter, creating the sweetest symphony she’d ever heard.  Standing there, as the faintest breeze ruffled her hair, bringing the scent of jasmine and rose from the bushes scattered throughout the garden, Pyara was quite sure that she could never feel more joy than she did in that very moment.

That was how Arbazz found her; he lingered in the archway for a moment before silently slipping into the shadows provided by the veranda overhead—content to watch the way the waning light played across her face,  the wind caressing her hair as if it, too, were ensnared by her beauty.

Her eyes remained locked on the sky above, but the corners of her mouth quirked up in the barest hint of a smile. “You’re staring.”

“I cannot help it. Your beauty draws my eyes like a moth to a flame.” He leaned against the wall, his lips  twitching up to mirror hers. “You are happy tonight.”

“I am,” she confirmed, her eyes flicking over to him before moving to the fountain; the children were splashing each other, little peals of laughter escaping them as the droplets hit their skin. “There is no sound more dear than that of happy children.”

“We could multiply that happiness,” he said, pushing off the wall—crossing the space between them, pulling her into his arms. “It has been four years since—”

“Do you think I do not wish for that?” Her smile faded—her body tensing; his voice held no reprimand… but still. “I know you remember what the surgeon said as well as I do, Arbazz. Jayadeep may very well be the only child I ever have. After four years of trying, I am inclined to think he was right.”

“I spoke thoughtlessly… forgive me, Pyara.” His arms tightened around her—lips caressing her temple. “If it is meant to be it will happen—if not… we have our fine, strong son.”

“I worry about him being alone,” she murmured softly, her eyes following the children as they scurried from the fountain to the closest jasmine bush. “Children need playmates.”

“He has Kumudinee to keep him company—look at how content he is,” he murmured, trying to soothe her.

Taking a deep breath, she forced out the words that had been mulling in her mind for months—hating the bitter taste of them and the way they felt on her lips, even as she said them. “You know I would not object if you felt the need to—”

“Hush—I have everything I need right here in my arms,” he murmured, his head dropping down so his lips could explore the soft curve of her neck, chasing her foolish worries about other women away.

“You are sure?” It was a whisper, the three words laced with all the uncertainty she normally kept hidden; he was a strong virile man, capable of fathering many children, it was within his rights to sow his seed elsewhere if she could not provide them.

“Positive. Now put aside such thoughts and let the children’s laughter bring a smile back to your face,” he murmured, nipping at her neck before straightening up—resting his chin atop her head.

“They make a pretty pair, don’t they?” she asked, relaxing back into his body. “I think she will be a great beauty… and already he looks like you.”

“Mhmmm.” He watched as his son’s playmate began plucking blossoms off the bush—scurrying back over to drop them in the water.

“It is a good match, Arbazz—they are well suited,” she persisted, shifting so she could gaze up at him—trying to ascertain his thoughts from the expression on his face. “If we—”

“Pyara—” his voice held a note of warning, “I will not have this discussion.”

“If we do not propose a match soon Desan might demand we send Kumudinee home. It would break our son’s heart to have that happen, you know this,” she cajoled, shifting again so she could turn to face him, her arms snaking up around his neck.

“He will not be matched until he is trained and blooded—I have told you this before,” he growled, scowling at her persistence.

“He is my only child! It is my duty to make sure grandfather’s line continues—”

“And it is _my_  duty to prepare him for the Brotherhood!” He snapped. “He must focus on training to be the best—only when that has been accomplished will I allow romance to distract him!”  
  
Her eyes snapped with anger at the mention of the Brotherhood, but wisely she held her tongue; his gaze was just as heated as he glared down at her—it was a silent battle of wills, neither giving an inch.

They might have continued glaring at each other all night had the pitter-patter of tiny feet not intervened.

“Mama! Come see! Kumi made boats from the flowers!” Jayadeep tugged at her skirt, bouncing with excitement.

“Did she? What a clever girl!” Stooping down, she gathered their small son in her arms, cuddling him close to her breast and pressing a kiss against his temple; when she straightened, her eyes met her husband’s again, her lips curving up in a smile. The anger in her gaze had shifted, her dark, honeyed eyes filling with something else entirely—a look of Invitation.

Arbazz took a step back, shooting her a wary look.

“This match is meant to be, Arbazz—I know it. I have felt it like an ache deep in my bones from the moment I heard that Desan’s pains began within hours of my own.” Stretching up, she brushed a feathery kiss against his lips, her smile teasing as she pulled away. “We both have obligations… but surely that does not mean an agreement cannot be reached, does it?”

“Pyara…” he growled, narrowing his eyes. “Do not test me.”

Her tongue snaked out; sliding across her lips—eyes demurely dropping. “When his training is complete… the match will be made—the rest can wait until after he is blooded.”

With that, she turned away, not waiting for an answer; tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder as she crossed the tiles, she intentionally added an extra swing to each step she took.

It was a calculated gesture—one that completely paid off.

Immediately, the sway of her hips ensnared his eyes, his brain subconsciously translating the silent promise in their movement, sending a rush of blood straight to his groin. Even as his body responded to the sight, internally, he cursed—she had switched tactics, settling on the one thing that she _knew_ he would be unable to resist.

Pyara’s gaze may have dropped from her husband’s first, but she could count the battle as won.


	3. Chapter 3

**Amritsar 1853**

 

The happy harmony that had filled the Mir household had vanished in an instant; over the course of a single ill-fated conversation, all the feelings of warmth and camaraderie that had become commonplace during Ethan’s stay had disappeared without trace, the air filling with a strained apprehension that was as cold as the marbled walls around them.

Perched on the edge of the bench before her dressing table, brushing out her hair in long, graceful strokes, Pyara’s eyes were locked on the mirror, watching her husband as he paced the room behind her. Arbazz was in a fury—his face flushed with the heat of his anger, his words dripping with scorn as he muttered under his breath. He had taken Ethan’s words not as a well-intentioned warning, but instead as the gravest of insults.  One not just directed at their son, but at himself as well.

“It is jealousy that motivates him,” Arbazz spat out loudly—bristling with indignation. “Sheer jealousy that my son is the best initiate he has encountered—far better than his own could ever hope to be!”

“He has not seen his son since infancy,” she said, her soft voice laced with the slightest hint of reprimand. “I doubt even Ethan would have begun training him so young, Arbazz. He has no idea what skills the boy might have—”

“Then what? What could motivate him to malign Jayadeep so severely? To impugn me in my own home this way?” He demanded, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror.

“Honor. Allegiance to the many years of friendship the two of you share, perhaps.” She set her brush down, turning to face him—well aware he would not like what she had to say. Regardless, it must be laid bare—no matter how much he might bluster and rage, he had to face the truth. “Natural skill and ability are useless if one lacks the heart to wield them. He was warning us, Arbazz, in an attempt to spare our son.”

“Spare him what? Jayadeep will be the best Assassin the Brotherhood has ever seen. Better than Ethan. Better even than me!” His raised voice echoed through the room.

“And what if you are wrong?” she hissed, his anger igniting her own. “Bellowing at me like an angry bull will not change this, no matter how much you might want it to! What if our son does indeed lack the ability to kill and it costs him his life? What if instead of being the killer, he is the one that is slain?”

“Ridiculous! You have seen him—”

“You are not _listening_ to me! Yes! Yes! A thousand times, yes! He has the skill! I have watched you guiding him since childhood and seen those natural talents expand! But his skill does not matter if he cannot put it to action, Arbazz! There is a part of Jayadeep you have always failed to acknowledge, determinedly overlooking it simply because it goes against everything you _want_  to believe! In your quest to mold him into the perfect son you have ignored the fact that he inherited your looks and skill, but he inherited _my_ heart! ”

“You _want_   this to be true,” he spat out, accusation dripping from the words. “You _want_   to believe it so you can further your own agenda—do not deny it Pyara!”

“I want my son to _live_.” She turned away, ducking her head to hide the hot tears that sprang up in her eyes—cursing her emotions for betraying her. “I want my only child to grow and flourish, passing on our wisdom and love to his own children—this is a bad thing?”

“You want him wedded and bedded—coddled away securely like an old man!” He thundered,  stalking closer—looming behind her as if the mere strength of his presence would bend her will to match his. “That is not Jayadeep’s destiny! He will follow in my footsteps, bringing glory to the Mir name!”

Swiping away the treacherous tears, Pyara stood; when she turned to face him, all vestige of the mother besieged by worry and grief had been walled away, replaced with the haughty regality that was her birthright. Every inch of her countenance befit the princess she was, from the proud set of her shoulders to the upright tilt of her chin.

“As my husband wills it, so it shall be,” she murmured—her complacent, subservient words completely at odds with the ice and iron that laced her tone. “But know this, Arbazz Mir…” as she spoke, her nimble fingers tugged the tie holding the gossamer robe she wore in place—the slightest shift of her shoulders sending it to pool at her feet.  “Though I love you more than life itself, if your stubborn determination leads to the death of our son... I _swear_ you will _never_   touch me again.”

His eyes ran over the mouthwatering curves of her body, unadorned by anything other than the phul in her nose and the thin sparkle of the golden kardhani that rode low on the fullness of her hips; as always, the intensity of her beauty struck him in a way that stole his breath. A sharp pain lanced his heart as her words sank in to his consciousness—if he lost her, it would be the end of him, for she was the apex of his world.

“Mark my words and remember them, Arbazz.”  She brushed past him, moving toward their bed, leaving the faintest hint of ylang-ylang and ambergris in her wake. Her soul screamed out in protest of her declaration, however, she was staunch in her resolve. As she stretched out, the words of the powerful entity that had once possessed her echoed through her mind, drowning out the plaintive sound of her heart’s demands. _‘Never doubt the lengths to which we will go to protect what is precious to us.’_

The life of her only child was more precious to Pyara Kaur than anything—more important than even the state of her own heart; she would protect Jayadeep no matter what it cost her, with all the fury and ferocious terror of Kali, if need be. 

As he climbed into bed beside her, presenting her with his back, the strained silence in the room was broken by the lone warble of a nightjar perched in a tree outside the window—the sound so mournful that Pyara thought the bird’s poor heart must surely be in as much pain as her own.


	4. Chapter 4

**Amritsar 1857**

 

It would not be considered polite for her to disappear—having opened their home to so many guests, it was her duty to circulate among them, seeing to their needs. She should be accepting the well wishes and congratulations of friends and family with modest grace—reminiscing about past celebrations such as this and sharing stories of those who had left this world behind, and could not be there save in spirit and through much revered memories.

Pyara knew these things, however, she simply couldn’t bring herself to _care_   about the impropriety of her actions.. The moment her eyes caught sight of Jayadeep and Kumudinee slipping out the side door that led to the courtyard, all thoughts of her duty and obligation fell away, her focus solely on that tell-tale prickle shivering up the back of her neck that she recognized as a _sign._

Weaving through the bodies that filled the room around her, she forced a smile when a distant cousin tugged at her arm, attempting to draw her into whatever debate was taking place; for a few accursed minutes she was forced to stop, making polite conversation before murmuring excuses to extract herself so she could resume her trek. It was obvious her cousin and her aunts took offense at her actions—the older women made disapproving noises behind her back as she began to move away. Their opinions of her behavior did not matter, only one thing did—the need to be outside with the children she loved so dearly. It was a need that was growing stronger and more insistent with every second that slipped past.

Stepping out onto the portico, she took a deep breath, drawing the night air into her lungs—letting out a relieved sigh as it chased away the thick, heavy smoke of the incense that lingered inside. For a moment, she simply stood there, allowing her vision to adjust to the difference in light—her eyes flicked across the gloaming shadows that filled the courtyard and garden before moving up to the sky.

Her breath caught in her throat—the prickle at the back of her neck increasing. Bright, jagged strokes of color from the sunset were slowly fading into the darkness of the night sky—propelling her back ten years into the past, to the very night when she’d sown the seeds that had grown and blossomed, culminating in the events they celebrated that day. The muffled chatter from the house made it harder to hear the fountain than it had been on the night in question, but if she strained hard enough, the trickle was there, as was the dulcet trill of birdsong. And while the loud, chirpy laughter of the children splashing in the water was gone, it had been replaced by something just as sweet—the soft, secretive murmur of young lovers who had stolen away for a few precious moments alone together.

Oh, how the sound warmed her heart.

For a moment, Pyara struggled with herself—a part of her insisted that she should turn right around and return to the gathering; her presence was an intrusion on their secret tryst, she should march right back inside and leave them to it. But she _couldn’t—_ not just yet. She _had_  to see their faces to confirm what they were feeling.

Silently, she moved, slipping across the courtyard undetected, with as much ease and stealth as her husband might show; from one shadow to the next, she crept nearer and nearer until finally she was close enough to see them in the dim, waning light. Pressing herself against the tree that sheltered her, she ignored the way the bark scratched against her cheek, slowly peering around its side.

There they sat, side by side, in their customary spot on the lip of the fountain—hands clasped together as they gazed upon each other with the sort of wonderment and adoration that accompanied the heartbreakingly perfect moments of first love. In that moment, as her eyes prickled with tears of joy at the sight, Pyara forgot the world around her, focusing solely on the beauty that was unfolding before her.

“Does it hurt much?” Jayadeep asked, reaching out—gently brushing his fingers against the hoop of the phul that now pierced Kumudinee’s left nostril; the delicate adornment was more than just a pretty trinket—it symbolized the match between them, tying her life to his. A shiver of excitement raced through him at the thought, his fingers sliding across the warm softness of her skin, caressing her cheek.

“The pain does not matter,” Kumudinee murmured, her voice soft as she leaned into his touch. “I only wish to have the chain attached now… I can’t bear the waiting. I wish—”

“I know—I feel the same longing,” Jayadeep confessed, his fingers moving up to stroke the softness of her hair. “I swear to you Kumi, I will be a good, kind husband. You will not want for anything—”

“All I want is you,” Kumudinee whispered, her voice full of yearning. “That is all I have wanted for as long as I can remember.”

They moved as one, closing the distance between them—lips coming together in an almost chaste kiss; behind the tree, Pyara’s heart sang out in jubilation—their tender words and gestures confirmed what she’d known… what she’d _felt_ for so, so long.

“What do we have here? A spy?”

The words were a growled whisper beside her ear—so unexpected that she let out a gasp of surprise. Clapping her hand over her mouth, she jerked her head back behind the shelter of the tree, shooting her husband a ferocious glare. “Arbazz!”

He chuckled softly at her furious whisper, stepping closer—pinning her body against the tree. “Be at peace—they did not hear you. They are so wrapped up in each other they wouldn’t even notice if we were standing right next to them.”

“I told you it was meant to be,” she whispered back, trying to ignore the way her heart pounded in her chest in response to the length of his body pressing against hers.

“That you did,” he drawled, dropping his head to nuzzle along the hollow of her throat. “I should heed your advice more often.”

“When it involves our son you most certainly should—a mother is rarely wrong when it concerns her child,” she murmured, her breath catching in her throat as his lips began to explore.

“Should I apologize for doubting you, Queen of my heart? Or should I show my repentance in _other_ ways?” His breath warmed her skin, lips slowly inching lower.

Squeezing her hands into fists, Pyara struggled to control herself—attempting to focus on the sharp bite of pain from her fingernails digging into her palms; she was no longer a girl, unable to master her reactions—she was a respectable wife... the mother of a son that was teetering on the cusp of manhood, almost fully grown. Even so, her senses reeled; the teasing sensation of her husband’s lips combined with the heady aroma of the jasmine and roses on the breeze and the sweet trill of the birds triggered a sensory memory—one so vivid that she bit down on her lower lip, lest a sound of pleasure escape, betraying their location.

“Are you thinking about the garden at the summer palace, my Pyara?” Arbazz crooned, pulling back just enough to gaze down into her eyes. “When you and I were the young lovers who stole away—ensnared by something far too powerful to ignore?”

She couldn’t speak—she was caught up in a wave of emotion so powerful it stole her very breath; eyes fluttering closed, she stretched up, crushing her lips against his—answering his question not with words, but rather, with a desperate, hungry kiss.

Even as her lips parted, welcoming his tongue, her mind raced—she dismissed each irritating thought as soon as it appeared; the fact that they had a house full of guests did not matter in the slightest, nor that the children were just a few feet away—all that mattered was Arbazz and the endless love between them. Their thirst for each other was impossible to slake—never easing or fading in the slightest, unaltered by the hands of time; no matter how often they drank from the bottomless well of passion they shared, attempting to quench it, it was ever present, and she knew it always would be.

His hand slipped deftly between fabric and skin, stilling her racing thoughts, his wickedly expert fingers began to tease and torment her—then suddenly, she realized there was something they’d _both_ overlooked.

“Arbazz...” she murmured against his lips, “we shouldn’t—”

“We should.” He interrupted gruffly. “I must show my much beloved wife how remorseful I am for doubting her.”

“But our guests—”

“We will be quick.” His other hand joined the first, making her body arch against his.

“The children…” her protest was weak—they both knew he’d already won, but she had to at least attempt to make him see reason before they embarrassed themselves.

“Hush! I feel the need to relive that first time, my love—the night I made you mine,” he purred.

“Arbazz! I feel the same need… I feel it so strongly that I will have _no_ control over my actions!”

He pulled back, his eyes narrowing as they searched her face—wondering if she was up to one of the tricks she was so fond of. “What are you saying, sweet Pyara?”

“I will not be _quiet_ , husband. I will scream your name out to the stars.” Her voice was thick and husky—her confession filled with promise.

His reaction was instantaneous—he scooped her up, tossing her over his shoulder. “The children can have the garden—I will watch you writhe beneath me on silk,” he growled—his strides long as he made for the back entrance that none but the servants used.

As they reached the door, a hushed moan floated across the darkness of the courtyard, followed by one that was louder and longer, chasing at its heels; the sound of Kumudinee’s pleasure made Pyara’s face heat—even as it brought a smile of paternal pride to her husband’s face.

“Like father like son, eh, Pyara?” he murmured, his hand squeezing her buttocks possessively as he shoved the door open with his foot, heading for the back stairs—taking them two at a time. “He follows in my footsteps in all things, just as I predicted.”

Given the current circumstance, Pyara could not disagree in the slightest—nor did she want to.


	5. Chapter 5

**Amritsar 1859**

Life was so terribly unpredictable at times; one would think a woman of her years, who had experienced so many violent upheavals in her life, would know this—but somehow, it still surprised Pyara. She set her course and steered determinedly towards it, never imagining for one single moment that something unexpected might happen along the way—especially not when it came to her husband and his stubborn, tenacious ways.

For more than a decade, the sole point of contention and discord between them revolved around their conflicting desires for Jayadeep and his future—yet when _finally_ they were on the verge of bridging the gap between them, when the goals of each were within easy reach, Arbaaz decided to change everything _again_.

Glancing around at all the preparations she had made over the last few months, Pyara let out a stream of curses worthy of any soldier that had served in her grandfather’s army.

“Pyara, calm yourself.” Arbaaz watched his wife pace the room, his lips twitching with amusement at her burst of temper.

“I will not! All of my hard work… all of my planning goes to waste _again!”_ She gestured her hands around the room dramatically, fighting back the urge to pick up the nearest vase and hurl it at him.

The large room where she normally received visitors was in complete disarray; bolts of bright silk in a myriad of colors lay strewn across every available surface, with yards of trim and semi-precious stones scattered amongst them, along with sketches and sample items from local goldsmiths and jewelers. The only thing that had any semblance of order was the stack of books where she kept track of what she liked, making notes on what went best together and the seemingly never ending list of things to be done.

Arbazz eyed the room, fighting back a sigh. It was a familiar argument—one that was oft repeated over the past year. Crossing his arms he leaned back against the table—almost dislodging an oversized basket that was perched precariously near the edge. “I thought you would be pleased. You are the one who convinced me to heed Ethan’s words—”

“Heeding his words would require your actually comprehending their meaning—which obviously, you do not! It does not matter how many more years of training you tack on, Arbaaz—the end result will be the same! First it was to be his fifteenth birthday… then his sixteenth—now you come to me and tell more waiting!” She grumbled, shooting him a dark look.

“Ethan said our son could not kill,” he pointed out smugly. “The additional training has proven he was wrong. It has given Jay experience to reinforce all that he has learned. An additional year will—”

“If you truly believe you have given him the edge he lacked, husband, then why are you postponing his final test _again_?”

“To ease your mind, _wife_ , and to give Jay additional confidence! Ethan has done many thoughtless, reckless things in the time that I have known him, but by far the worst of the lot was spewing out his ridiculous opinions in front of my son! He should have considered the effect it would have on such a young, impressionable mind—”

“You have finally seen it then? After all these years?”

“What I see is a moment of uncertainty—when the words of his mentor echo through his mind, haunting him. He denies it when I question him, of course, but I _know_ it for what it is.”

“No—you know what you want it to _be_. That is an entirely different thing, Arbaaz. If you train him for another twenty years that moment will still be there, for the plain simple reason that it is _not_ uncertainty at all.”

“I suppose this is where you lecture me on his inability to kill?” His upper lip curled up in a derisive sneer. “The fact he has ended many lives proves how _wrong_ you are—”

“Ha! Chickens and goats! What will be next—shall you move up to creatures that are more dangerous to satisfy your ego? Snakes? A tiger perhaps?”

Arbaaz snorted, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous—”

“As ridiculous as it might be, it is still safer than what you will eventually send him to do! A tiger is deadly in fang and claw and speed, but it lacks the most dangerous instinct of all—the avarice and cunning of _man!_ ”

His jaw tightened with anger, his eyes narrowing—a warning sign that his anger was close to breaking his control. “If you are quite finished demeaning my methods of instruction—”

“Tell me, Arbaaz, have you ever wondered why Jayadeep has that… what did you call it… ‘ _moment_   of  _uncertainty’_ when you have him practice on animals? After all, they cannot plead for their lives, and their attempts to fight are a mere scuffling of wings and hooves—”

“I have already told you—were you not listening? Too busy thinking of ways to berate me, perhaps?” he snapped. “Jay remembers Ethan saying he could not do it, and wonders if it is true—”

“Should that doubt not have faded after… mhmm… say the fifth time, or the tenth—even the twentieth? Surely the fact he has been able to follow through repeatedly would remove any lingering doubt from his mind…” she moved closer, not stopping until the front of her body brushed against his—tilting back her head to look him in the eye. “He hesitates because it is not in him to end _any_ form of life, recognizing its worth. When you see that brief moment of hesitation, you are witnessing his heart and soul recoil in revulsion from what he is about to do.”

“Yet still he does it, proving he can overcome such _weakness_ the same way his mother overcame it when needed,” he pointed out, studying her upturned face. “Repetition will make it an instinctive act, in time.”

“Or perhaps it will just kill a tiny bit more of his soul every single time you make him do it, Arbaaz, until all that is left is a shadow of the sweet, loving boy our son once was,” she said softly.

For a moment, he remained silent, continuing to study her upturned face—trying to ignore the way her eyes were pleading with him. Despite his irritation, his hand moved up, palm gently cradling her cheek, the pad of his thumb stroking the softness of her skin. “It will help him become the man he is meant to be, Pyara. I have held my tongue for years out of love… but you _must_   learn to let go. You do Jayadeep no favors by coddling him so much—in truth, your overprotective nature will harm him in the end, turning him just as spoiled and soft as the Maharaja’s sons.”

“I know only one way to love, Arbaaz—with the entirety of my heart. I protect our son to shield him from all the ugliness of the world—a world that has stolen away so many that I love. I would shield you just as fiercely, if you would only let me,” she murmured, turning her face—pressing a soft kiss against his palm.

“That ugliness soiled me long before the day my eyes found you in the palace,” he replied, the hardness vanishing from his tone, leaving it as gentle as his touch. “Your goodness has driven back much of the taint—do not ever feel that your love does not protect me. It made me a better man right from the start and continues to do.”

Her lips curved up—her smile teasing as she lowered her lashes coquettishly. “Then you are indeed a very lucky man that my heart chose you that day.”

“I seem to recall being the one doing the choosing,” he sputtered, feigning offense. “Did I not seek _you_ out?”

“You did, dear husband, however, the proper question would be _why_ did I happen to seclude myself in the garden at that particular moment in time?” Pyara’s full lips brushed his palm again, a playful glint appearing in her eyes. “After all, it is well known that my grandfather loathed it when his much adored granddaughter wandered from his side—surely there must be a reason I risked his displeasure?”

He let out a burst of appreciative laughter. “And yet you say _men_   are the cunning ones.”

“My eyes found you in the crowd and immediately, my soul recognized yours,” she replied, unable to keep a note of smugness from her tone. “So you see, while your sweet, honeyed words were very lovely and seductive when you purred them in my ear… my mind was already set on the fact that I was yours and you were mine.”

His hand abandoned the warmth of her cheek, sliding down to claim her waist—fitting so perfectly in the curve that it was easy to believe they were made to fit together.  The muscles in his arms coiled—pulling her flush against him, their bodies came together so forcefully that the basket behind him toppled over, spilling its colorful contents across the floor. Started by the clatter, he glanced down at the mess, arching a dark brow in confusion.

“Pyara… are you collecting shoes for the needy?”

“They are samples—I cannot decide which design would be best.” Pulling away—ignoring his grumble of protest—she stooped down and began gathering up the delicate slippers, returning them to the basket.

“Best… for what?”

Her hands stilled—turning her head, she shot him a look of pure incredulity. “For the _wedding_ , Arbaaz!”

Her answer only confused him all the more, wrinkling his brow. “The type of shoes matter?”

“Of course they do!” His ridiculous question brought her earlier frustration back in a rush, chasing away the momentary lapse of contentment they had shared. “You obviously have no idea how difficult it is meeting the requirements!”

 “Why are there requirements involved? Surely it is simply a matter of—”

“I am Sikh and you are Muslim and Desan is being difficult and—”

“Desan is always difficult—”

“Well she is being more difficult than usual. Her new husband is Hindu so she is insisting we include those traditions too,” she snapped. “And for some reason Kishan thinks she is entitled to have input as well, though neither of the children have any ties to her at all—”

“If you had let me finish my initial thought you would realize that you are making this far more difficult than it is—it is simply a matter of Jay and Kumi going to Sri Harmandir Sahib on their own without all this… nonsense,” he waved his hand around, rolling his eyes. “I could care less about you incorporating anything Muslim—that part of my life is the past.”

“Have you completely lost your senses? My mother would never speak to me again if there was no wedding—”

“That is a bad thing? Your mother is a bitter old harpy—”

“Arbaaz!”

“It is the truth! I will never understand how such a loving beautiful girl as you sprang forth from her withered old—” He ducked—the shoe she’d thrown at him missed his head by mere inches. “Pyara!”

“Mind your tongue when you speak of my mother or next time I will not miss!” She threatened, scowling furiously.

“Ahhhh… there—now I see a bit of resemblance between you,” he teased, quickly latching onto her arm and tugging her upright before she could scoop up another shoe. “I am only teasing, Queen of my heart—”

“Very disrespectfully,” Pyara huffed—melting into his arms, despite herself.

His lips brushed along her jaw slowly, in a way he knew was sure to soothe her ruffled feathers. “I think it is your mother and sister’s demands that put you in this foul mood, not me.”

“You have a hand in it—postponing things _again_. I will have to start from scratch—in a years’ time all the styles and patterns will change.” Pyara’s lower lip slid out in a sulk at the thought.

“I will leave those decisions in your most capable hands—just as you will leave the decisions about Jay’s blooding to me.” Giving her a quick kiss, he pulled away—though his body betrayed his reluctance to part from hers. “Speaking of which, if you see our son, please remind him he is an hour late for training. I came up here looking for him but you thoroughly distracted me from my purpose.”

“Please correct me if I am wrong, husband, but it would seem to me that you are in fact the one who is late since you are _here_ making a nuisance of yourself and Jayadeep has clearly been in the courtyard _waiting._ ” She gestured to the veranda that overlooked the grounds below, arching a brow. “It would appear that he is playing mentor since you are running late.”

He huffed in response, brushing past her—moving out into the sun and leaning against the rail; she followed him, leaning against his side automatically, her eyes taking in the impromptu training session below.  Arbaaz’s amusement rumbled in his chest, bursting from his lips in a sharp bark of laughter at the sight of Kumi’s attempt to throw a punch; the girl swung with so much force that when Jayadeep dodged the blow, she spun around in a half circle, tumbling to the ground in a heap.

“She might be better off with you mentoring her, hmmm? You could teach her to throw shoes with wicked accuracy,” he teased.

“I will throw _you_   off this veranda if you do not get out and let me get to work.” Her smile softened the threat as she shoved him away.

“Be sweet or else I will take your little friends down with me for Jay to practice on,” he shot back, nodding to the cage of nightingales hanging from the beam overhead.

Kissing his fingertips, he brushed them against her lips before stepping over the rail and disappearing, sending a shiver of excitement racing up her spine—though she refused to admit how pleasurable it was to watch him be so daring. Instead, she leaned over the railing, feigning a scowl as she watched him climb down the wall. “You might as well! They will probably be dead of old age long before they can sing at our son’s wedding!”

Her shout startled the children below, drawing their eyes her way; waving off their questioning looks, she heaved a deep sigh, steeling herself for the monumental task of returning all that she had acquired to the proper vendors. Calling for Raisha, her favorite of all the women who served in the house, she began with the fabric, stacking it in neat piles to be carted back down to the market—moving on to the gemstones as the servant began carrying the stacks out of the room.

“Masai Pyara? Masur Arbaaz said I should report to you for lessons?”

The soft voice startled her so much that she dropped the bundle of carnelians she was holding, sending them scattering across the marble tiles. Kneeling to scoop them up, she glanced up at her Kumudinee, unable to hide her curiosity—if he’d mentioned throwing shoes to the girl, she very well might kill him. “Did he by chance say what these lessons entailed?”  

Kumudinee stooped down to help her, cheeks flushing in a way that was quite becoming. “Learning to properly chastise a husband—he said you are an expert.”

“Oh that man,” Pyara growled, shaking her head. “He will be the death of me with his infuriating ways!”

“He also mentioned something about learning the art of flattery—he said you were a master at that as well,” Kumudinee added, glancing at her with hopeful eyes.

“That is a lesson that I think could only be learned at the palace, sweet girl,” she said, chuckling softly. “I learned the art at my grandfather’s knee when I was little more than a baby.”

“But Masur said—”

“He is a man—he knows nothing of the intricacies involved in mastering such things. Men are not good at subtleties.” Reaching out, stroking the girl’s cheek, she sighed. “I suppose I could _try_   to pass along some of what I learned—”

“Please! I will be a very good pupil!” Kumudinee shot her a wide-eyed look, fluttering her lashes so rapidly that Pyara burst out laughing.

“Moderation is the key to everything, Kumi. You want to lure them in, not blow them away with the gust of wind your lashes stir.”  Tugging the girl up, she steered to the veranda—settling her on the pile of brightly colored cushions and bolsters that were so much more comfortable than the spindly chairs in the room. As she reclined beside her, she closed her eyes, letting the sweet scent that drifted up from the garden and the soft chatter of the nightingales transport her mind back to her childhood in the halls of the summer palace—back to the life of beauty and grace that the wretched Templars had destroyed.


End file.
